


Another Turn of the Wheel

by atamascolily



Category: The Adventures of Sinbad (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Fix-It of Sorts, Gen, Rewriting Canon, Sinbad Season Two AUs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-20
Updated: 2017-10-19
Packaged: 2019-01-01 02:32:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12146745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/atamascolily/pseuds/atamascolily
Summary: When the crew of the Nomad promises a dying woman they will take her infant child to the temple of the mystical Balardi monks, they also make enemies of a bandit crew that believe the child is prophesied to destroy them. Circles and cycles abound, for good and for ill. Ultimately, Bryn gets to choose which will prevail, and the answer is not as obvious as it may seem at first.AU version of Adventures of Sinbad episode 2x21 - “The Guardians” - from Bryn’s perspective (mostly). Currently in-progress.





	1. A Dying Wish

**Author's Note:**

> I watched Sinbad 2x21 “The Guardians” recently, and I couldn’t help but think how I would re-write it to fix the plot points that bothered me, and potentially incorporate it into a virtual season two featuring Bryn. So I did. This is the result. As this is an AU interpretation, you'll note numerous canon divergences, especially regarding Bryn's powers.

Dermott sends Bryn an image of the smoke first, and she reels backward from the disorientation of suddenly finding herself in the air and clenches her fingers into her horse’s mane to keep from falling. By the time she’s recovered her bearings, Rongar is already pointing in the right direction - the man has keen eyesight, though not as good as a hawk’s - and signing to the others. She heard screams in Dermott’s sending, the smell of burned flesh, and the laughter of raiders so she knows what Rongar suspects, but cannot know for certain at the distance - that innocent people are dying and it is no accident.

Dermott doesn’t communicate often with her like this, but when he does there is always a reason.

When she’s able to speak again, her voice is clipped and low, as neutral as she can make it. “Dermott is there. Bandits. Attacking some sort of caravan.”

She sees Sinbad shift in his saddle, and she knows from the change in the way he carries himself that their mission has just shifted. Forget the cargo, forget the tide, forget the plan, forget everything: Sinbad won’t rest until justice is done, however bloody or complex its work might be. He acts like he doesn’t care about much, but it’s a facade, and they all know it and play along because he doesn’t like it much if they don’t. Sinbad might be grim much of the time, but he’s easier to live with if you pretend to believe him when he lies.

Doubar says he was different, back when Maeve was around, but he spoke quietly, out of the corner of his mouth, only when he was sure Sinbad wasn’t around to hear him. Sinbad didn’t like it when you talked about Maeve, either.

So they wheel the horses around and ride towards the smoke. It doesn’t take long to get there, but it feels like forever. They don’t speak much, but they know the drill. Save who you can. Leave the leader to Sinbad. No mercy to the guilty ones. Fight to kill.

They’re lucky, because the bandits are complacent. They aren’t expecting an attack from the outside, much less one on horseback, so the crew has a precious few seconds of surprise. Rongar gets a few bandits while still mounted - taking advantage of the distance to throw some of the dirks strapped in the bandolier across his chest - before vaulting to the ground and throwing punches. Big and burly Doubar is a born melee fighter and roars into battle, smashing heads together, his favorite strategy. She winces out of the corner of her eyes as Firouz gets punched in the face and goes down, but she doesn’t have time to think about it much because she’s caught in the rush of battle and the world is reduced to what is immediately in front of her.

Her mind doesn’t remember what happened before she woke on a beach on a godforsaken island, before she met Sinbad and joined the crew of his merchant vessel, the Nomad, but her body remembers how to fight. She takes comfort in those deep muscle memories, that no matter what else happened in that life before she can’t remember, that she has always been a fighter. She punches and kicks, blocks and spins, and she moves with a grace that could only come from long hours of practice - practice she doesn’t remember, but has saved her life so many times before. It comes in handy when spending time with Sinbad, who seems to attract trouble like one of Firouz’s mysterious metal bars - - - what he calls ‘magnets’ - attracts iron filings.

Sinbad, of course, goes straight for the leader, who is wearing a gaudy purple turban and an even gaudier cape. He’s threatening a woman, who is clearly untrained in combat and shaking with terror, but grimly prepared to fight for her life. Bryn is too busy dealing with other bandits to watch the proceedings, but she knows that if anyone can save that poor woman, Sinbad will find a way. She’s seen it happen so many times before, it’s not something she questions anymore.

The battle is over almost too quickly; it takes her a moment before she realizes the remaining bandits are fleeing, their purple-cloaked leader with them. Horses scream in terror and the smell of smoke is fierce in her lungs. Sinbad is crouched low on the ground, and Firouz is with him, offering what comfort he can to the poor woman he defended, who is clearly dying.

Bryn hears the baby before she sees him - tucked away under a cart, which is not yet on fire. She picks him up, gingerly, not sure how to handle an infant, and carries him over to the dying woman, who cries out in relief to be re-united with her child. “Ajeeb! You’re alive! Oh, thank heavens!” 

Bryn isn’t sure how she knew Ajeeb was the woman’s child - some magical impulse or intuition she follows because she doesn’t know what else to do. She kneels on the ground next to Firouz, dizzy as the adrenaline rush from the battle fades. Firouz is fumbling in his belt pouch for herbs and bandages to staunch the bleeding. Even though he knows it’s futile, he still tries. Bryn admires him for that - in the aftermath of battle, she is just tired.

Doubar and Rongar are scouring the camp for any sign of raiders, and any survivors; they fade in and out of her peripheral vision. Dermott is somewhere in the air, silent, unreachable. He talks to her, not the other way around, although she could probably reach him if she really wanted to. She doesn’t try.

Sinbad only has eyes for the dying woman, who is clinging to her child fiercely, as if the two will never be separated. She’s speaking with Sinbad, and the words suddenly snap into focus for Bryn. “Take him to the temple in Balardi… the monks will take him in… He must go… it is prophesied…” Her words are in halting gasps and Bryn knows it isn’t long before the shock of her injuries sets in. “I have a purse - take it - everything I have - yours - please, just take him to Balardi -”

Sinbad’s face is grim and steady, and Bryn knows that he’s angry, although his rage is not aimed at the woman whose name they do not even know. What’s your name? Bryn aches to cry out, but Sinbad cuts her off before she can open her mouth, asking about the father.

“There is none,” the woman says cryptically. She must mean he’s dead, Bryn guesses hazily. Surely, she’s not implying it was a virgin birth! But when prophesies are on the table, anything is possible, and Bryn has seen a lot of strange things since she began journeying with Sinbad. Often, Bryn is the one doing them, for reasons she doesn’t and may never understand.

“We’ll take him there,” Sinbad whispers, “I promise.” Bryn nods, knowing their course was set from the moment Dermott showed her the smoke. Of course they will. What else is left to do? It was never about the money, though that never hurts, either. Sinbad’s a merchant, not a mercenary, and usually breaks even through exceptional luck and some dramatic and unorthodox accounting.

“The raiders - they’ll try to kill him,” the woman gasps. “You must protect him! They ambushed us - on our way to Balardi - the prophesy says Ajeeb will bring their downfall!”

Ah. It’s all coming together now, how the story is woven, and where it all fits in. So the raiders will be back. Probably with reinforcements. Lots of them. She can tell by the clench of his jaw that Sinbad has the same thought.

“Ajeeb, I love you,” the woman whispers. “Take care of him - for me - tell him - ” and she slides backwards, the muscles in her face going slack, her breathing stops. Ajeeb, who has been quiet since Bryn returned him to his mother’s arms, appears to sense something is wrong, and begins to wail.

Sinbad looks over at Bryn. “Can you carry him as we ride to Balardi?”

“Sinbad, what makes you think I know anything about babies?” She is tired, and her heart aches at the slaughter and senseless violence, and so it comes out more snappish than she intends. She does her best to soften the rebuke, not wanting to argue with him. He is the captain, after all. “I’m not sure I’m the best person to handle him, that’s all.”

Sinbad looks up over to the edge of the clearing, where Doubar is already hoisting bodies to build a pyre - mostly bandits, Bryn notes absently. Sinbad will probably make them make cairns for the caravan folk who were killed in the attack, even though it takes longer. He doesn’t like burning the dead. One of his many quirks.

“I can probably rig up a sling,” Firouz volunteers, fumbling with some bandages. “Give me a few minutes.”

“I don’t want him falling off, now.” Sinbad is curt, but not overly so, absently looking in Doubar’s direction. “Doubar, you had a lot of practice carrying me back in the day - ready to show off your skills?”

Doubar looks up from the grim clean-up work, probably grateful to have something else to focus on for a moment. “Baby-sitting is not my forte, Sinbad, but he can’t be more of a handful than you were at that age.” Rongar, who has been putting out the wagon fires, grins, not bothering to hide his amusement at the mental image.

“Good. You can carry him while we ride to Balardi. Firouz, rig up a sling for him or something.”

“I’m not carrying a child over my shoulder like a sack of grain!” Doubar sputters. “That’s not right!”

“I was thinking over the chest. Like Rongar’s bandolier,” Firouz mused, as his fingers shifted and twisted the fabric. “Though a sack might work, too.” 

“Fine, but it had better be comfortable,” Doubar grouses, going back to moving bodies. “For me AND for the little tyke. I don’t want to drop him!”

“Come over here when you’re done and we can test out my designs.” Firouz is always eager when working on a new invention. It’s one of his most endearing traits. “I don’t really know much about babies, so this will be an interesting chance to make some scientific observations– Hey, he’s wearing a gold ring around his neck!”

Bryn cranes her neck to look. It’s true. “Some sort of talisman,” she agrees. “Very shiny. Probably part of the prophecy.”

“Well, we’ll probably need that when we get to Balardi,” Sinbad says, standing up. “Let’s clean up here and get going. Doubar, finish the pyre for the bandits. Firouz, stay with Ajeeb and figure out what we need to do to take him comfortably with us. You can make all the observations you want. Rongar, go through and see what else survived in the caravan. Maybe there’s something we can use. Bryn, see to the horses, then help me build Ajeeb’s mother a cairn.”

“Sinbad, the bandits will come back. Do you think we have time–”

“We have time,” he says, his mouth a grim line, and she knows there is no arguing with him on this. They will haul the rocks and build the cairn and they will do the decent thing, the honorable thing, the hard thing, the right thing according to Sinbad’s code, and then they will go to Balardi and take Ajeeb to to the monks in accordance with his mother’s dying wish. Studying Sinbad’s face, Bryn wonders if the prophesy might not be self-fulfilling - the bandits may have set about their own doom now that Sinbad is involved.

She stands up, too. “All right,” she says, and staggers off to go see about the horses, more tired and heartsick than she cares to admit to herself. No matter how many time she sees this script play out, it never gets any easier. That’s what makes us good people, she reminds herself. Because we care. Because we don’t let the pain make us jaded.

It’s one reason why she stays with Sinbad. He may be cynical when it comes to his own emotions, wracked by grief he refuses to confront about a certain red-haired sorceress, but he’s never become complacent about injustice, or the suffering of innocents. He never stops doing the right thing just because it’s hard.

Also, she has to admit to herself, where else would she go? It’s not like she has a home or family to go to. Like it or not, the crew of the Nomad is her family now.

Still, she wishes she had asked the woman’s name. Because she was more than just Ajeeb’s mother, more than just a victim. She was a person with her own life and story, one that they will never know. And they will never be able to tell Ajeeb any more than that his mother loved him and she died holding him in her arms, entrusting him to strangers because she had no other choice.

It’s not fair. It’s never fair. But she builds the cairn with Sinbad because it’s the only thing they can do for her, aside from fulfilling her last request.


	2. Dreams

Firouz rigs up the sling for Doubar and they ride, following a map that was tucked away in the pouch Ajeeb’s mother offered Sinbad as payment for their services. It helps that Ajeeb is a calm child and seems content to sleep snuggled up to Doubar, swaying in rhythmn with the horse’s footsteps. Sinbad is still grim, and Bryn is still tired, but everyone else has relaxed enough to begin to banter again, even Rongar, who occasionally signs his reactions to Firouz and Doubar’s running commentary about the infant. Firouz is fascinated by Ajeeb - clearly he hasn’t spent much time with young children prior to this- and Doubar is smitten, even cooing on occasion. She would be more amused by the spectacle if she wasn’t so exhausted.

Sinbad is clearly uncomfortable, but trying not to show it. It’s not clear if it’s the child that bothers him or the circumstances that led to his presence in their lives. Perhaps he is thinking about the bandits that are looking for them. 

Bryn doesn’t know much about babies, either - she hasn’t had any experience with them in her post-awakening life, and unlike battle, she doesn’t have any innate memories to guide her. Just because she’s the only woman in the crew doesn’t make her an expert, no matter what some men might think.

Dermott doesn’t show up until nightfall when they make camp, his talons bloody. He chirps a bit, staring at Ajeeb, but is otherwise silent. Bryn wonders what he sees, this mysterious hawk that occasionally sends words and images into her mind. Maeve’s hawk.

She knows Dermott misses Maeve, as much or more as Sinbad misses Maeve, but at least Dermott is more open than Sinbad about his loss. Dermott will occasionally reach out to her, which is more than she can say about Sinbad. She doesn’t know Dermott’s story, either - he’s more than just a bird, but no one on the crew really knows what he actually is - but Bryn knows he is magical, and she is magical, and so they have a bond, a connection, and Dermott can relate to her like no one else on the crew, except for maybe Sinbad. Sinbad is distant with Dermott, but she’s seen his face when he watches Dermott wheeling in the sky, when he thinks no one is looking. She’s seen the way he strokes Dermott’s breast feathers sometimes, though their relationship is far from smooth, and sometimes Dermott will refuse his entreaties altogether.

Sinbad takes the first watch, and Bryn is all too happy to lie down and sleep. It’s been a long day, bandits could attack at any moment, and on these sorts of missions, you never know when you’ll have a chance to rest again. You sleep when you can. 

***

Her sleep that night is restless, but she finds herself in that familiar place, the lucid state where she is dreaming, and knows it. She is sitting cross-legged by a fire not too different from the one Firouz lit earlier in the evening, staring at the flames, when she feels the skin prickle on the back of her neck and she knows that someone is watching her.

It takes a moment for her to find him. He’s tucked away in the shadows, dressed in black and silver, but his oily blond hair gleams in the fire light and she can feel his presence radiating outward like heat. He’s staring at her intently with a gleam in his shadowed eyes that she doesn’t like. He does not threaten her, but he does not mean her well, either. He is curious, in the way that a voyeur is curious, and she doesn’t like it.

“What do you want?” she says, not even bothering with pleasantries.

“Give up the child. The bandits will kill him and leave you alone. It seems a shame for such a pretty woman to suffer on account of a stranger’s babe.”

“You’re a magician,” she says, her eyes narrowing. “You work for the bandits. Why?”

He shrugs. “None of your business, pretty witch.”

There it is again: that slur that might as well be a title. Witch. Is that what she is? She doesn’t know. But people are afraid of her, afraid of her magic, and sometimes, their fear is useful. Suddenly, she knows this man is afraid of her, and his efforts at belittling her only make her bolder and angrier. He does not want to fight her because he is afraid he will lose.

“Tell your master a prophesy isn’t worth crossing swords with us,” she says, because it’s true. “If he leaves the child alone, the child will leave him alone.”

The man laughs. “Oh, my lovely, it’s far, far too late for that. You of all people should know better.”

She does. The cycle of violence and revenge has started and now it’s the bandits’ turn to go down in a sea of their own blood at the hands of the caravans’ only survivor. Or his adult chaperones. It’s not inevitable, but the weight of the world bends in that direction, and with every act of violence, it becomes harder and harder to overcome.

“Leave us alone, or you’ll regret it,” Bryn says, abruptly out of patience, and yanks as hard as she can, up and out of the lucid dream, where he can’t follow her. To his credit, he doesn’t try.

Later, when she wakes, she replays the conversation in her mind, over and over again. Ajeeb is cradled against Doubar’s chest, rising and falling with the big sailor’s hearty snores. Sinbad is silhouetted against the fire’s light, in the same position he was in when she fell asleep. Only the moon, which is halfway across the sky now, marks the passage of time.

She says, quietly, because she knows Sinbad will hear, “There’s a sorcerer with them.”

She doesn’t have to say any more. He doesn’t ask how she knows and she doesn’t volunteer. He nods, and that’s enough.

****

Para opened his eyes to find Korla staring at him, a baleful expression in his eyes as he cleaned his weapons. “Do you know where they are?” the bandit leader growled. He’d been in a nasty mood all afternoon, ever since he and his men trickled in after what should have been an easy ambush proved more challenging. Para ignores the grousing and the wounded male ego - bandits, for all their physical toughness, are so fragile on that score - but it doesn’t make for very companionable evening. Tonight there’s been more grunting and shouting than usual, not to mention more drunkenness - a truly distasteful thing for magic-users, which required steady hands and a clear mind.

Para keeps to himself most of the time, and is careful never to show any of the contempt he feels on his face, especially around Korla. The man might be an ignorant brute, but he pays well and the work ranges from downright easy to occasionally interesting. This particular case looks to be one of the interesting ones.

He shrugs, and stands up, shaking the stiffness out of his limbs. “Well enough. They’re on the road to Balardi with the infant, a few hours’ ride from the desert. An ambush on the other side, before they get to the gorge, ought to be sufficient.”

“Good.” Korla’s eyes narrow as he contemplates his options. “Follow them and make sure they don’t change course. And keep them from reaching the gorge bridge, just in case. I want them caught like rats in a trap.”

Para smiled in amusement. Oh, this was going to be fun. “Oh, and the woman is a powerful witch. I suggest you leave her to me, lest you find yourself picking your mens’ bones off the rocks. She doesn’t look it, but she can cause quite a bit of damage.”

As he expected, Korla is dismissive of his warning. The bandit leader doesn’t think much of women, a tendency that is going to get him killed sooner or later, and almost got him killed today when he tried to murder the child’s mother. She fought like a hunted beast with a hidden dagger, and no doubt Korla will bear a scar on his sword arm for the rest of his life. But at least he won’t blame Para for not warning him if their opponents’ witch does inflict some damage.

In the meantime, no reason not to play a little. Para always enjoyed a good game, and the desert crossing offers no end of opportunities for a little mischief.


	3. Crossing the Desert

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you don’t know what fynbos is, check out the Wikipedia page for a general overview. Basically, it’s the background landscape for at least 75% of the show, with a Mediterranean climate and some very unusual plants.

The next obstacle to cross is the white-sand desert - thankfully a small one as there are no oases marked on the map and they didn’t come prepared for a longer stay in such an inhospitable wasteland. Doubar complains bitterly for a while - of all of the crew, Bryn thinks, he’s the one who misses the sea most. Despite his title as Master of the Seven Seas, and his considerable skills as a sailor, Sinbad seems indifferent to the sea’s charms, as long as he doesn’t linger too long in any one place.

“He doesn’t like to be tied down,” Firouz said, when she asked him about it once. Rongar just shrugged. “We do live an active life, don’t we?” Doubar chuckled, and she had to agree. Life with Sinbad was certainly unpredictable but never boring.

They were riding through fynbos, with nary a tree in sight, for hours already before they reached the desert, and it’s already hot as blazes under the noonday sky. Somehow, the desert is worse. Somehow the low shrubs of the fynbos cool the land and block the hot wind that rises off the desert, drying out the skin and parching the throat. Firouz is carrying Ajeeb in his sling because Doubar fears an ambush and doesn’t want Ajeeb caught in any crossfire if he has to make any sudden moves. Bryn isn’t sure why, given that they ought to be able to see any bandits coming at them from miles away in the desert, but she appreciates the big man’s need for a break even if he is the one least likely to see the baby as a burden. And, if there is an ambush, it’s better if Doubar has his hands free, anyway. Firouz has his talents but hitting people isn’t one of them.

Bryn feels a familiar prickle on the back of her neck, the taste of last night’s magic in her mouth. “He’s here,” she says, tightening her grip on the reins as she feels her horse ready to spook underneath her. “‘Ware ambush!”

“What kind of ambush?” Firouz wants to know - a reasonable question, but one Bryn never has to answer. At that moment, there’s an explosion of sand and her horse rears up as something white and scaly erupts from the earth below them.

“A sandworm!” Firouz can’t keep the wonder out of his voice. “I’ve read about them but never seen one! They’re pretty rare!”

“How do we kill one? With your exploding sticks?” Sinbad shouts, as the worm rears up above them, and plunges back down into the sand, sending grit everywhere as the horses go mad with terror.

“Hardly! Their skins are too hard for that! All we can do is run!”

Bryn manages to get control of her horse again and steer the beast over towards Sinbad, but it’s no easy task. “Can we escape it?” Doubar shouts, as the sandworm rears up again.

“I think so! They’re carnivorous but territorial. If we can just get out of its range –”

“RIDE!” Sinbad’s order needs no elaboration. They don’t have to ride far - it’s only a few minutes, to judge by the angle of the sun in the sky - but it’s a hellish journey, the worm rising and falling out of the sand around them, blinding them and terrifying the horses. Doubar almost falls off his horse, and Bryn is glad that Firouz is the one carrying Ajeeb at the moment. Even when the worm falls back and retreats, they don’t stop riding, not until the horses are soaked with sweat, and they have to get off and walk for a while.

“Any sign of them?” Sinbad asks and Bryn shakes her head, her throat too dry to speak. “How’s Ajeeb?”

“Still asleep,” Firouz says. “Doubar, you want to carry him again?”

“I’ll do it,” Bryn volunteers suddenly, although she doesn’t know why. She doesn’t know anything about infants, but she feels a protective instinct rise up within her and bares her teeth. Come and get me, you monsters, she thinks. Just you wait.

She feels the magic prickle again, and she knows that the bandit’s pet magician is gone, and relaxes, just a little. For the moment, at least, she doesn’t need to worry.

Still, it’s a relief to reach the end of that white-sand expanses and drink their fill at a spring indicated as a waystation on the road to Balardi. Bryn goes behind a rock to shake the grit out of her clothing - it isn’t as good as a bath, but it definitely helps. Doubar changes Ajeeb’s swaddling, with some strategic help from Firouz, and the child is surprisingly agreeable considering their most recent brush with death. Thankfully, Ajeeb is old enough that he can eat moistened bread and other softened ship rations, which is all they have.

Sinbad tries to hold the baby, but is so discomfited, he quickly passes Ajeeb back to Bryn. She tries and fails not to smirk - Sinbad may be quite the ladies’ man, but he’s more experienced at how to make babies than to take care of them. She’s not the only one, either - Rongar is grinning from ear to ear, and Doubar makes a few jests at his younger brother’s expense. Firouz is chattering to anyone who will listen about sandworms, but Bryn mostly tunes him out. She’s glad Firouz has a chance to update the natural history books, but right now she has other things on her mind.

Bryn sings a lullaby to Ajeeb, rocking him back and forth. The sky is a clear, cloudless blue, and insects sing in the rocky fynbos around them, a staccato beat to her song. Despite the pain and terror of the last few hours, this is one of those precious golden moments in the midst of chaos that she treasures. It may be fleeting, but it is there to draw on in her memory when she needs comfort. Unlike other people, she doesn’t have much of a reservoir of past happiness to draw on, no childhood celebrations, no adolescent awakenings, nothing before she woke on a beach, isolated and alone.

She doesn’t know who she was before, so she treasures who she is now, and these peaceful moments, precisely because they are so fleeting. Who knows what she’ll remember later on – all the better to experience it as fully as she can, right NOW, when it is actually happening.


	4. Taking Stock

“So, who are these Balardi monks, anyway?” Doubar wants to know as they let the horses rest for a time, while Ajeeb sleeps. A good question, and one Bryn is curious about as well.

Firouz shrugs. “They’re part of a minor religious sect, fairly popular in this region. Dedicated to studying the meaning of life and the martial arts, rather than promoting the worship of any particular god.”

“So, philosophers who study war as much as they study books,” Sinbad comments archly. “They seem like they would be formidable opponents.”

“Perhaps. They generally keep to themselves, rather than proselytizing, although they have a reputation for being effective fighters.” As usual, Firouz is skeptical of anything that doesn’t match his particular interests: explosions, inventions and healing. Bryn tries not to roll her eyes.

“It reminds me of some practices I encountered further east,” Sinbad muses idly, almost to himself. Sometimes Bryn forgets that Sinbad, despite his relatively youthful appearance, is so well-traveled, in addition to being frightfully competent in every discipline except talking about his feelings.

“Oh, like Tetsu,” Doubar agrees, referring to Sinbad’s one-time foe turned friend - a rogue samurai from the distant island of Nippon, with its strange customs and peculiar weaponry. Tetsu, like Bryn and Sinbad, also bore a mysterious rainbow bracelet shackled to his right wrist, and had no memory of who gave it to him or the circumstances under which he received it. “A skilled fighter and a noble spirit!”

“Kinda like Tetsu,” Firouz agreed. He spreads the map out on his lap. “It looks like Balardi is both the name of the monastery and the name of the village nearby. So we can stop in at the village and re-supply when we get there.”

“So are there any prophecies about the Balardi monks?” Doubar asks Firouz. “How does a tiny baby fit into all of this?”

“I don’t know. It seems unlikely, but the Balardi do believe in predestination and re-incarnation, particularly of their leaders. Perhaps they think that’s what Ajeeb is and the ring around his neck is some sort of identifying token.” It’s clear from his tone Firouz doesn’t think re-incarnation is very scientific, although in this case, it would fit the facts.

“More importantly, the bandits think he’s the subject of this prophecy,” Sinbad interjected. “That’s the real problem here.”

Firouz passes the map over to Sinbad, effectively changing the subject. “It looks like we have two options - a direct route over the gorge here, or a longer route on the main road. Which do you want to take?”

Sinbad pauses, staring at the map. “The gorge. Even if it’s too narrow to get the horses across, we’ll still make better time on foot than we would mounted on the main road. Besides, if we have to, we can always destroy the bridge to buy ourselves some time if the bandits are on our tail.”

Bryn winces, though she’s not surprised. Sinbad is an excellent rider, but he is never sentimental when it comes to horses: he picks them up if they need to travel overland, and drops them immediately when it comes time to return to the sea. Often, he loses them in between, a loss he takes out of his own personal share of the profits from each voyage. He doesn’t seem to notice. Horses are a means for Sinbad, never an end in themselves, though he is never intentionally cruel to them. Bryn always finds herself fond of the horses and it hurts whenever circumstances force her to let go of them.

Rongar, staring off into the distance through Firouz’s magniscope, signs that he can see the bridge off in the distance. Not too far.

Bryn stands up, stretches. “I’m going for a walk,” she says.

“Be careful,” Sinbad says. I can take care of myself, she wants to tell him, but she knows he means well, so she says nothing, just turns and walks away into the forest.

She doesn’t intend to go far - just enough to get some privacy so she can relieve herself - but after she’s finished her business, Dermott sends the image of a veiled bandit into her mind and she realizes that she’s just set herself up for an ambush. Great.

Fortunately, the bandit is so intent on stalking Bryn that he pays no attention to the hawk perched in the tree above him and Bryn is able to use the images Dermott sends her to quietly circle around behind him. He goes down like a sack of grain when she hits him from behind and doesn’t get up again.

She ought to feel some sort of grim satisfaction, but she doesn’t - just numb. And if there’s one bandit wandering around out here, there are likely to be others as well.

Thanks, she thinks hard at Dermott, and runs back toward the clearing where she left her companions. She was used to him winging in and out on short notice - often not seeing him for days at a time - but in this case, his timing was particularly good. Judging from the shouting, it looks like the main attack is well under way. At least no magic is involved, at least none that she can sense, anyway.

“INCOMING,” she yells as she charges into the clearing, to prevent any friendly fire. She ducks and rolls as arrows zing past her, and lands solidly behind the rocks her friends are using for shelter.

Sinbad smiles archly, “Bryn, how nice of you to join us.” His words would be gallant if the situation weren’t so dire.

“I leave you boys alone for a minute, and all hell breaks loose,” she jokes, trying to lighten the mood. The horses have already bolted in terror, which Bryn supposes is better than bleeding out from the bandits’ attack. Like it or not, the gorge bridge looks like their best option now. No way can they beat the bandits to Balardi on foot.

“Rongar, can you carry Ajeeb?” Sinbad asks quietly.“You’re the fastest runner of all us. If things go south, do you think you can get across the bridge and wait for us to find you?”

Rongar gestures to the bandolier of knives, his hands flashing in signs. Yes, but…

“No problem,” interjects Firouz. “I can work around your daggers. It’s better if he’s shielded by something, anyway.” He’s already tugging at the leather bandolier across Rongar’s chest, and within a minute, he has the baby wrapped snugly around the warrior’s chest, and lowering the bandolier back over the child’s body. Rongar bears this fussing quietly, more amused by the novelty than anything. Bryn admires his aplomb. She wouldn’t be able to move very well with the baby strapped to her like that.

Amazingly, Ajeeb is still sleeping through all of this. Please don’t let him cry, Bryn silently prays. He’s been such a calm baby so far - gurgling and smiling if he makes any noises at all - but she’s not sure how far his tolerance will extend and doesn’t really want to find out.

While Firouz is working, the arrows keep coming down around their rock shelter, many of them on fire, and the landscape is so dry that it isn’t long before the vegetation around them is burning, sending up huge plumes of smoke around them. They wrap damp cloth around their nose and mouths, like they would for a sandstorm, but the smoke infiltrates into everything and Bryn cannot control her coughing.

“Sinbad, we’re going to be cooked alive if we stay here!” Doubar warns. “What’s the plan?”

Sinbad takes one of the pale cloths that used to swaddle Ajeeb and that Firouz didn’t use to tie the baby to Rongar. He wraps it around his sword. “I’ll create a diversion. Doubar will have my back. Rongar, Bryn, Firouz, when you see an opening, run like hell. The map said there was a bridge crossing up ahead. If we can get over that and cut the bridge, the bandits will have to take the long way around.”

“What if they beat us to it?” Bryn asks soberly.

Sinbad shrugs. “We’ll burn that bridge when we come to it.”

She makes a face at the pun, since, knowing Sinbad, they probably will end up burning the bridge, but he’s right, as usual. One of the things she likes about the captain: he may have crazy ideas, but he’s always willing to put his own life on the line first to implement them. Also, they usually work. She’s seen enough by now to trust him: if he can get them out of this fix somehow, he will.

Sinbad swings the makeshift flag up over the rocks where their attackers can see it and the hail of arrows slows. “I’M COMING OUT!” he roars. “HOLD YOUR FIRE!”

The steady stream of arrows slow, and then cease abruptly as the bandits swarm out from under cover towards Sinbad.

Next to her, Rongar takes off running. She hesitates, not wanting to draw the bandits’ attention their way while Ajeeb is still in bowshot range, so she sees what happens next: Sinbad, dropping his cloth-wrapped sword, then somehow managing to get a dagger out from his side pocket and taking the bandit leader hostage, with the blade wrapped around his throat.

As quickly as that, the tide has turned. They’re not out of danger yet, but at least the bandits have stopped shooting at them for now.

“Okay, that’s our cue,” Doubar says, as Sinbad staggers back towards the rock, dragging his hostage with him. The rest of the bandits mutter to themselves, but they refrain from striking out.

“Let’s go!” Sinbad yells and all four of them plunge into the woods after Rongar towards the gorge bridge.

She doesn’t know exactly what Sinbad has planned - he probably doesn’t know either, improvising it all as he goes along. At least this way they’ll keep the element of surprise on their side. Whatever outcome the bandits had planned for their ambush, Bryn has a feeling this probably wasn’t it.


	5. The Bridge

After running a few personal errands of his own, Para winks into existence in what he anticipates being an empty corner of the bandits' latest camp. Instead, he apparates right in front of Korla, who stares at him balefully. It's not a miscalculation, Para realizes. The camp is almost empty and only a few men are still hanging around. 

"You're late," the bandit leader snarls. "They passed through the desert and are heading for the gorge now. I set my best assassin Raj to take down the witch-woman if she splits off alone from the party." 

Para sighs inwardly. The hardest part of working with these bandits is not showing his disdain on his face. _I don't know why he bothers hiring me if he refuses to LISTEN to what I tell him._ "She's powerful," he said diplomatically. 

Korla laughs. "Raj can handle her."

Well, so be it. Based on their night-time encounter - where she'd forced him out of her dream before he was ready to leave - Para's money was on the witch-woman, not Raj. But since Korla had chosen to ignore his advice, that was not his problem now. 

_He thinks you can always handle things with force. No sense of... subtlety, this man. But at least the plunder is generally good._ Para has expensive tastes, and those black velvets and rich brocades he's so fond of don't come cheap. Manufacturing money isn't his forte - teleportation, invisibility and some of the nastier arts of grey magic (his preferred term - not evil, just morally ambiguous, like the world itself, rather than this two-dimensional black and white nonsense) are. And they ought to be enough to see this thing through, even with a witch involved. 

"I set the sandworms on them in the desert. They're tired, likely resting now, since they had to make the crossing so quickly lest they become a meal for the worms. I assume you want me to help you with your ambush now?" 

Korla's grin grows wider and uglier. Para hadn't thought that was possible. "I want you to make the gorge bridge invisible. Just in case they get away from us. Keep them from getting over it without destroying it for us. Think you can handle that?" He turns away from Para and spits on the ground with a loud hack, and wipes his mouth on his sleeve. 

"Child's play," Para says. Korla might be a brute, but he was a decent enough strategist when magic wasn't a concern. 

"Do it and come back here. We shouldn't need it, but it never hurts to have a back-up. I'll need you to exorcise the spirit from the child once we've gotten him." 

Ah, yes. The child. The whole reason they were here, chasing after a band of wild-card mercenaries in the first place. Personally, Para thinks Korla is being a trifle paranoid, but prophecies are a tricky business. He'd probably do the same thing if it were his own head on the line, if the infant were all that stood between him and total dominion over the countryside. 

Para's not interested in conquest so much or being in charge - too much work, really, and everybody's after you when things go wrong. Much better to be a trusted advisor, a sought-after magician, a valuable ally. The pay is just as good, and fewer people try to kill you - at least directly. Intrigue, he can handle. Outright combat is not his forte. He wishes the witch-woman hadn't picked up on that. Most people with her level of talent aren't so good at hand-to-hand. 

"Right," he says to Korla. "I'm on it. When is the ambush?" 

Korla keeps smiling that deep, cruel smile. "My men are already preparing it. The signal is when Raj returns from killing the witch-woman. I'll go as soon as we're finished here." 

"Well, I shan't keep you any longer," Para says with a deep, courtly bow. He vanishes. It took him years of practice to master that particular effect and he's rather proud of it. As the world fades out, he hears the whistle of arrows and the hoarse shouts of men in the distance. Things are happening fast, then. 

Maybe he'll get lucky and Raj's taken care of the witch-woman and he doesn't need to worry about her. 

_Then again, maybe pigs can fly._

*** 

Having a hostage slows them down. Firouz ties his hands with some clever knots that tighten the more he struggles, and Doubar gagged him to keep him quiet, but he still doesn't come without a struggle. So Sinbad has to drag him along, a knife pointed at the man's throat, fighting the whole way. It makes for slow going. 

However temporarily demoralized and adrift the bandits might be with the abduction of their leader, soon they will regroup and follow the crew with a new sense of urgency. Bryn just hopes Rongar was able to make it across the bridge with Ajeeb and that they'll meet up on the other side once the danger has passed. 

When they reach the gorge, she gasps. She wasn't prepared for how high up they suddenly are, how far it is to the ground, how small the rushing river is below them. She isn't prepared for how beautiful it is, or how all the adrenaline is starting to fade, or how tired and sore she is from dodging death once again while on the run from people who want to kill them. 

Or how there's no bridge, none at all, only a naked empty vaccuum over the abyss. 

Bryn swears, the filthiest words she knows (and she's heard a lot, sometimes even from Sinbad and Doubar when they think she's not listening). She half-expects the others to criticize her language, but from the expressions on their faces, she can tell they're thinking the same thing. Even Sinbad, normally implacable in these kinds of situations, betrays a flicker of surprise and worry before the confident mask reappears. 

The bandit leader, in contrast, positively radiates smugness. _There's a clue here,_ Bryn thinks, noting that sudden shift in attitude as the hostage relaxes completey. _I just can't put my finger on it._ She can tell by his stance that Sinbad notices the bandit's reaction, too. 

"What happened to the bridge?" Doubar bellows. "Where's Rongar? And Ajeeb?" 

Firouz points across the abyss, the magniscope already out of his pocket and unfolded in his hands. He raises the device up to his eyes. "Yes! It's Rongar, with Ajeeb on the far side! They made it across somehow!" 

"Did they have to destroy the bridge?" Doubar grouses. 

"Maybe they didn't have a choice," Bryn says. "At least they're safe for now." 

"What about us?" Doubar counters. She's wondering the same thing. They both look at Sinbad, who is looking across the abyss at the tiny speck in the distance that must be Rongar. "Firouz, what's Rongar doing?" Sinbad asks slowly. 

"He's... he can see us," Firouz said slowly. "He's signing something... I can't quite follow... it looks like he's gesturing for us to come on over!" 

"How can we come over if there's no bridge? Has he lost his wits?" Doubar exclaims. 

Firouz shrugs. "That's what he's saying, very clearly." He turns the magniscope towards the abyss. "But I don't see any sign that a bridge has ever been here. No stakes or supports or anything on either side, too, or evidence that they've been here. It's very unusual to destroy a bridge so completely without leaving any traces." 

Bryn scans the abyss, all of her senses open, hoping for a sudden strike of intuition. She's not sure, but it feels like the damn sorceror has been here. "Maybe it's magic?" 

"Yes, but if the bandits' sorceror destroyed the bridge, why didn't he attack Rongar and Ajeeb as well?" Firouz comments, with his usual impeccable logic. 

Sinbad, meanwhile, is looking back in the direction that they've come. "The rest of the bandits will be here soon. We don't have much time to figure this out. Anyone got any brilliant ideas?" 

He magnanimously includes the bandit leader in this invitation, but the hostage only sneers at him. It's just as well he can't talk with the gag in his mouth or he'd probably be addressing them with language as foul as Bryn's. She'd do the same thing if their positions were reversed. 

Firouz pulls the magniscope back to his eye, seized by a sudden excitement. "Rongar! He's picking up a stone - tossing it over the abyss - and the stone just sits there, in mid-air." 

"I don't believe you," Doubar says, but Bryn feels something cold congeal in her stomach, as the answer hits her. She reaches over to Firouz and puts her hand on his shoulder. He hands the magniscope over to her and she stares through its glass eye, everything distant and fuzzy coming into sharp relief. It's like seeing the world through Dermott's eyes, only she can control the angle and direction. Like magic, but a little more... reliable in some respects. 

And there it is, just as Firouz said it was. A stone, hovering in midair over the abyss. 

Rongar, clearly impatient that his crewmates were missing the point, tosses another stone onto the bridge next to the first one. Bryn jumps as it suddenly clattered into her field of vision, involuntarily lowering the magniscope as she did so... 

... and with a familiar scream, Dermott plunges from the heavens and lands on... something that isn't there. He hangs, seemingly suspended in midair, his talons wrapped around some invisible handrails or supports. 

The bandit leader is clearly startled. Sinbad laughs. "Dermott! Way to make an entrance!" He turns to the others. "I think that's our cue, don't you think? Oh, not you," he adds, as the bandit leader resumes his struggles. "I think that's right - OUT". He slams on the man's head with the last word, and the bandit leader slumps into unconsciousness. Sinbad lets him fall unceremoniously to the ground. 

Then he turns back to the others as if nothing had happened. "Shall we?"

It's moments like this, sweat-stained, battle-hardened, triumphant, with just a hint of a swagger, as he moves them from certain death to survival, where Sinbad is just so goddamn attractive in his element, that she wishes she could throw herself into his arms and kiss him. Well, she certainly COULD, but it doesn't seem like the time or place for romance or even raw animal passions, no matter how much her body craves some relief. It's so hard to separate out how much of this is due to the parade of near-death experiences she's been through recently, so hard to sort out genuine affection from outright lust, where any body would do. It's just so... complicated. She can't deal with complications right now, especially not those sorts. 

Anyway, Sinbad's so grim and repressed when it comes to emotions that it wouldn't be anything she really wants, even if it would feel good at the time. (Bryn's not sure what relationships she might have had Before, but Sinbad, for sure, has had a lot of practice.) She can't bear the thought of returning to the status quo after such a coupling. What if he left her in port like he's done with his other girlfriends? So she pushes the desire down, hard, lest it push her into doing something she'll definitely regret later. 

Sinbad goes across the bridge first, of course, tossing a few stones here and there to make sure he's got it the right spot before stepping off into thin air. Once on the bridge, he walks steadily but surely, to where Dermott perches in mid-air. "Thank you," he says to the bird as he passes, nodding in recognition of the mysterious bird, who sees what others miss and often shares that knowledge with them. 

Of course, the rest of the bandits pop out of the woods at that point, arrows flying (somehow they're not surprised to see the crew walking on air, confirming Bryn's suspicions that their pet magician was responsible), but she doesn't have too much time to think about the implications. Dermott takes flight with a scream and soars into the air, dodging the missles effortlessly, up and out of sight. 

Without hesitation, the bandits make straight for the invisible bridge and it's a mad dash for the other side to where Rongar waits with Ajeeb strapped to his chest, grinning like a madman, one hand on the baby and one hand on the knives in his bandolier, ready to throw as soon as the first enemy gets within range. 

As soon as the others are safely across, Sinbad jumps back onto the bridge, his sword drawn. "Cut it down!" he yells to Doubar and Firouz, who get out their swords and start hacking at the invisible bridge supports, fumbling by feel to find the right spot, even as they yell to Sinbad about being an idiot. Bryn shouts too - it's reflex, mostly, she doesn't expect it to do any good - as Sinbad rushes forward and meets the first bandit head on, their swords clattering together. Sinbad ducks and twists, seemingly dancing on air, and the bandit goes down, screaming as he falls to his death a very long way down. The next man parries a bit, but suffers the same fate. 

When Firouz and Doubar slice through some of the ropes, the bridge jerks and sags, twitching. More bandits fall, unprepared for the sudden motion. Sinbad sheathes his sword and rushes back towards the solid edge of land where the crew stands, waiting. As Firouz and Doubar finish their strokes, their blades hit the earth and the invisible bridge goes down with a loud clatter. 

Sinbad isn't quite to safety yet when it happens. He leaps into the air as the invisible supports beneath him give way and his opponents tumble behind him, bellowing in terror. For a heart-stopping second, he hangs in mid-air and Bryn wants to scream because everyone, everyone is screaming and it isn't clear if he's going to make it and she's not sure if her powers will intervene here if he doesn't make it, no matter how much she wants them to. 

_I wish I could control this_ , she thinks, blinking, as time stretches out in front of her, an entire lifetime in a single breath. _I don't want him to die -_

\- and he hits the edge of the cliff and grabs for it, his muscles straining. But he holds himself, and he doesn't let go, even as the rest of his body pulls him downward towards certain death. He looks up at the crew, unable to contain his grin. "Well? A little help here?" 

Doubar rushes over towards the edge with a shout, and pulls his little brother to safety, fussing the whole time. Of course, Sinbad has a clever quip to go with it. All five of them stagger forward, away from the edge and the bandits (who are still lobbing arrows at them, though at this distance, the odds of a strike are unlikely). Bryn looks up, sees Dermott soaring above them, smiles. Somehow, impossibly, they survived. Dizzy and lightheaded with relief, she still can't quite believe it. 

Right before they turn a corner and vanish out of sight of the gorge, Bryn looks back. In the distance, she can see tiny figures swirling around the edge, some clustered around what must be the prone form of their leader - and a distant smear of black and silver, on the edge. The magician. 

She turns and quickens her pace, glad to increase the distance between them. Did Sinbad kill the bandit leader, the way she might or might not have killed the one who tried to ambush her? Did it end here, or had they only postponed the battle for another time and place? She wasn't sure. It wasn't Sinbad's style to kill a helpless man, even an enemy, unless there were no other possible options. He had no qualms about killing, she'd seen him do it often enough, and there was no question the bandits deserved it, not after that attack on the caravan and the death of Ajeeb's mother. But maybe the bandits would give up now and leave them (and more importantly, Ajeeb) alone. Maybe it would end here. 

She wasn't sure she really believed that, though. There was a prophecy, and like it or not, it had its own weight, one that would drag them all down if they weren't careful. Even if fate wasn't truly fixed (Bryn was firmly agnostic on that question), people believed in prophecies and it was their belief, more than anything, that powered these things. If the bandit leader was truly dead, it might be over - perhaps there would be no one strong enough or disciplined enough, to rally the rest to continue the fight. If the bandit leader was still alive, though... 

... well, they'd humiliated him pretty thoroughly at this point. Killed a lot of his men. He was going to come after them. And then there was Ajeeb, too. 

No, it probably wasn't over. But at least for now they had a reprieve. Considering that there had been several times this afternoon where she wasn't entirely sure they'd make it out alive, she'd count that as a success. 

***

When Para returns from his assignment to hide the bridge, he finds that Korla's carefully laid plans have all been for naught. Somehow the fool managed to get himself taken hostage by the very people he meant to slaughter! By the time Para transports himself back to the gorge, Korla is unconscious, and their targets have destroyed the bridge and are fleeing on the road to Balardi. He arrives just in time to catch a glimpse of them before they disappear from view. 

Of course, the witch is still with them, in her yellow dress, so conspicuous. Of course, you couldn't kill a woman like that so easily.

When he finally wakes, Korla is angrier than Para has ever seen them. "I want them ALL dead," he says, but there's no fire there, only a deep, grim coldness. He is fixated on the idea and there will be no mercy now for sure. "Take us to Balardi. We'll fight them on the temple grounds if we have to." 

Para bows. "As you wish."


	6. In the Temple

They make good time on foot for several hours before darkness falls, taking turns carrying Ajeeb. Finally, Sinbad insists that they rest rather than pressing on for the few remaining miles to the village. Bryn isn't sure if this is out of kindness to the crew or because he wants them to arrive well-rested and in daylight, in case the reception isn't welcoming. Maybe both. She hopes that their difficulties will be over when they reach Balardi, but you can never tell what the situation on the ground will be before you walk in. 

Bryn absently listens to Firouz and Doubar argue about the best way to change Ajeeb's diapers. Sinbad is doing his best to stay out of this, though eventually Doubar gets Sinbad to hold Ajeeb, which Sinbad manages a little less awkwardly this time around. Rongar still has a difficult time hiding his laughter, though.... 

Her eyelids get heavier and heavier until.... 

Suddenly, she's in that lucid state between dreaming and awake. Her mind is clear, alert, active, even as she's aware that her body is slumbering. Every detail of the scene is the same as she remembers it, but something is different. She knows someone else is watching her. Someone else is here. 

_It's the magician,_ is her first thought, and she casts her senses around wildly, scanning the horizon in all directions with every sense that she possess, both tangible and intangible. _I do not want to deal with this right now, I do NOT--_

"The wheel of destiny is turning. Do you think you have the power to halt it?" a quiet male voice says behind her. She whirls to face it, but no one is there. Wait. A shadowy figure dressed in black, his face hooded. 

"I believe we make our own destiny," Bryn says. The man doesn't sound like the bandit's magician - not nearly unctuous enough, for one thing - but who else would invade her dream space like this? 

She speaks with more bravado than she feels inside, but if there's one thing she's learned from Sinbad after watching him wiggle out of seemingly insurmountable odds, it's this. If he can fight fate and get away with it (most of the time), so can she. Or at least go down swinging. 

The figure cocks his head to one side, pondering her words. "You can't save others from their own punishments. Their fate was sealed when they set the wheel in motion." 

"No. I can't. But even just punishments have consequences. Sometimes bad ones. Sometimes, forgiveness is the right choice. Or a different punishment. I don't want to kill anyone unless there's no other way to save innocents. Or myself," she adds, and wonders if that makes her a hypocrite. Well, she might not be innocent, but it's not like she tries to deliberately hurt people unless they start it first. She knows deep in her bones that there are no perfect absolutes, that so much depends on the situation, timing, context - yet she has to say _something_. It would be easier if she knew exactly what they were talking about instead of all these vague generalities. 

They stand facing each other in silence for a long time. Finally, the man says, "You are a very interesting woman. I will consider this." He turns away. 

Well, that was out of character for the bandit's magician for sure, but who the hell was he, then?

"Wait!" Bryn calls after him. "What--"

"Bryn? Bryn?" She opens her eyes to find Firouz tugging at her shoulder. The sun is just barely over the horizon. "Let's go." 

"Were you dreaming?" Sinbad asks her, as she struggles to get her bearings. 

"Yes, but of what I'm not sure." 

***

The village of Balardi is small, only a few clay buildings clustered together, surrounded by smaller thatched dwellings on the outskirts. There isn't a perimeter wall or any barricade to keep out unwanted visitors. There's nothing in particular to distinguish it from any other of the countless villages in these parts, even if there's a temple tucked away somewhere nearby. Bryn can hear chickens clucking and children shouting to each other - the normal signs of a village at peace.

Before they leave the forest and set out over the open fields, they pause for a moment to plot strategy.

"According to the map, the temple is on the hill above the village," Firouz says, examining the map with his usual studious intensity. "But I don't see it from here, even with the magniscope." 

"Do we need to go into the village?" Bryn wants to know. "If we're taking him to the monks, wouldn't it be better to go there directly?" 

Sinbad purses his lips. "I want to go to the village first. Scout out the territory a little. See what they know about the bandits and this prophecy. Maybe learn about these monks, too. I want to make sure Ajeeb is going to be safe here. Or at least get directions for the temple." 

Bryn isn't sure the village is necessarily a safer bet - in her experience, villages tend to be populated with small-minded folk who either shy away from the crew in terror or try to run them out of town. Of course, she's probably biased - nearly being burned for witchcraft has a way of doing that to you. Fortunately, Sinbad and the crew were able to intervene, but such experiences have a way of indelibly burning themselves into memory. But they could probably trade for some home-brewed beer and maybe even some food to restock their stores. They'd lost most of the supplies with the horses in the bandits' ambush and it's good that they are almost to their destination. 

_Of course, just because we're here doesn't mean it's over yet...._

As they approach the village, its denizens stop and stare. More and more of them appear from various buildings, interrupting their tasks to watch the strangers draw near. The laughter of children dies down, a low muttering takes it place. All the children Bryn sees are girls, clinging to their mothers' skirts if they are visible at all. All the women are cloaked and veiled, and even the men have their heads covered. 

Bryn and the others stand out - but then, they generally do. Even if their clothing was just right, their attitude and bearings would give the game away. And then there are the swords dangling from their belts, marking them as people not to be messed with. _No wonder the villagers are nervous_ , Bryn thinks absently. _We look like trouble for sure._

It's Bryn's turn to carry Ajeeb, and she's holding him in her arms rather than strapping him to her back or chest as they've been doing en route. Sinbad thinks it will look better if the villagers see a woman carrying a baby, as a sign that the strangers meant no harm. Bryn privately grouses about the inconvenience, even though she concedes he has a point. Now, under the stares of the villagers, she's grateful to have her arms occupied because otherwise she'd be tempted to surreptitiously finger her sword hilt - which would probably be misinterpreted by the jumpier folk here. 

No one greets them or makes eye contact as they enter the village. No one stops them, either. They just follow the crew with their eyes. It makes Bryn nervous. Something's wrong, but she's not sure what, and she hopes they won't get charged without some sort of warning, so she can protect Ajeeb. 

When they get to what must be the center of the village, when they're surrounded on all sides Sinbad raises up one hand as a sign of peace. As usual in these sorts of situations, he goes straight for the direct approach, with a winning smile. "We're looking for the temple of the Balardi monks. We encountered bandits along the road, attacking a caravan. We promised this child's dying mother that we would bring him to them for safe-keeping. Is there anyone here willing to help us?"

No one says anything. Bryn's head is buzzing and she can't figure out why. Something's wrong, but what...? It doesn't _feel_ like violence is about to start.... 

"The Balardi monks are all dead now, strangers. Once pilgrims came for miles to the temple, but a group of bandits attacked them constantly, and they killed the monks when they tried to intervene. They sacked the temple and left it in ruins. There's nothing up there now."

The speaker is a white-haired old man dressed in long robes who comes through the crowd to face them. By his age and bearing, he's clearly one of the village elders, with a strong sense of dignity and purpose that proclaim him to be a man of honor. 

Bryn feels the shock and disappointment like a punch in the gut. _All dead.... how.... what are we going to do with Ajeeb now?_

And then, because she still can't quite believe it: _How on earth did the bandits manage to kill an entire temple full of men who had devoted themselves to the martial arts? Were they better at theory than in practice?_

"Will you take us to the temple anyway?" Got to give Sinbad credit: he is clearly surprised, but as usual, he doesn't let that stop him for long. And Sinbad is nothing if not persistent when he wants something. If the monks really are all dead, it's no surprise he'd want to see the evidence for himself. 

"Why do you want to go there? I told you, the monks are all dead. There's nothing there." 

"Maybe so, but we promised his mother we would take him to the temple and ensure he would be taken care of. We intend to fulfill both of those promises." Sinbad is very literal when it comes to these sorts of things, but in this case, Bryn happens to agree with him. Perhaps there will be some clues at the temple that will give them a new direction. Or perhaps the wheel of destiny would have some suggestions, like that the mysterious cloaked figure in her dream would have it. 

_Or at the very least, a good place to make a last stand._ Another wave of dizziness hits her and she stumbles, biting her lip so as not to cry out. Doubar puts his hand on her shoulder to steady her, like one of Firouz's metal rods to ground lightning in a storm, and she's grateful for any port in a storm. She knows the bandits are coming, that they're on their way, that the crew is almost out of time. 

She can tell Sinbad notices her stagger but he's too preoccupied with the villagers to ask her about it. She wants to blurt out that the bandits are coming, with their pet magician in tow, and she's afraid to say anything lest she start a riot. 

"The bandits believe that this child is prophesied to destroy them," Sinbad continues. "They've been hunting us. Do you know anything about this prophecy?" 

"Is that a boy child you have there?" The tension in the crowd is so thick suddenly, Bryn is afraid an attack is imminent. 

"Yes," Sinbad says slowly. Bryn wonders if he can feel the tension she senses, too. "Show him, Bryn." 

Bryn holds Ajeeb out to the old man, who studies the infant's face for a moment before he reaches out to touch the golden ring on the chain around the child's neck. His face has no expression whatsoever. 

"They killed the male infants in our village on account of this prophecy and sold the older boys into slavery," the old man finally says. As he speaks, the crowd visibly deflates for a second, as if all their grief and rage has been concentrated in his words. So that explains the odd feelings she's been sensing... so much pain... just not directed at them personally. 

"I will take you to the temple so you can see for yourselves," the old man continues. "Come with me." 

Doubar lets go of her shoulder and heads off after the old man. As Firouz and Rongar follow, Sinbad pauses and turns to Bryn. "Are you all right?" he says quietly.

"The bandits are coming. They've sent for reinforcements. More of them than we've seen so far. And their magician, too. They'll be here soon." She shifts Ajeeb to her other arm, and starts walking after the others. 

He follows at her pace, his expressiong thoughtfully grim. "How much time do we have?" 

"Maybe a few hours. If we're lucky." 

Sinbad smiles, and pats Ajeeb's head, clearly relieved to have even that much warning. "Any sign of Dermott?" 

"Not right now." She looks up, scanning the heavens for the circling hawk, but the cloudless blue sky is empty, and she hasn't seen him since they crossed the bridge over the abyss. 

"He'll turn up," Sinbad declares confidently. Abruptly, he turns and strides ahead to the others. She picks up her own pace so she can stay level with the group. With bandits on the prowl, she has no desire to be off on her own right now. She can take care of herself, but there's no reason to risk Ajeeb, who smiles and gurgles in her arms as if this whole journey is the biggest adventure in all the world. 

***

The temple turns out to be tucked on the opposite side of the hill, facing away from the village. It's a complex, ornate stone structure that bears all the signs of a recent attack and abandonment. The bandits couldn't knock down the huge stone pillars supporting the roof, but they defaced whatever stonework and statues were in reach, and the rubble is coated with grimy ash smears. "I'll take you to the main altar," the old man says and the crew follows, sobered by the scale of the devastation around them. 

Fortunately, it's been long enough that there's no sign of blood or remains - just dust and spiderwebs everywhere. Firouz, who has allergies, sneezes a lot.

_Good thing stealth isn't a requirement right now,_ Bryn thinks idly, every time he does so, trying to contain her irritation. It's not Firouz's fault that her nerves are so jumpy. 

As they pick their way through the abandoned complex and a tangled maze of hallways, Sinbad quizzes their guide for more details about the monks and the bandits' attack. They learn that the bandits kept making incursions on pilgrims coming to the monastery, and when the monks tried to intervene, the bandits attacked them, too. The monks put up a brave stand, but were ultimately overwhelmed by the bandits' superior numbers. After the battle, the bandits rounded up all the villagers and separated out the male children, killing the infants and taking the older ones away.

"And you did nothing?" Doubar huffs at this, unable to tolerate the suffering of innocents. 

"What could we do?" the old man asks plaintively. "We didn't know what was happening until it was too late. Had we known what was coming...." His voice trailed off. 

Sinbad gives Doubar a stern look. "Please continue," he tells the old man gently, who needs a moment to compose himself before continuing the story. 

None of the villagers had ever heard of the prophecy before, but the bandits claimed they had heard it from a magician, one who had given them sorcery to overpower the monks. Bryn's neck prickles at this. _Sorcery. Even trained fighters couldn't overcome that._ Suddenly, the story starts to make sense. What was she actually dealing with here? 

"What were the exact words of the prophecy?" Firouz asks brightly. For someone who claims not to believe in anything that can't be explained by science, Bryn notes, the inventor is awfully interested in these sorts of things.

"They said a young boy was supposed to bring about their downfall - an avenger who would bring about justice, the leader of the monks reborn."

"Kinda vague, though," Firouz remarks thoughtfully. "Which is why the bandits are killing children indiscriminately - because they don't know which one is part of the prophecy. If it's true, anway." 

"Do you think Ajeeb is the one?" Bryn interjects suddenly, directly addressing the old man for the first time. "His mother said he was, but I don't know how she knew that. And he had this ring on a chain around his neck. Is that a token of some sort?"

The old man pauses. "That ring..." 

At this point, they reach what must be the inner sanctum of the temple. The heavy reinforced doors are jammed shut, so Doubar and Rongar have to twist them open enough to allow the crew to enter. There are four windows, one on each corner, and skylights, allowing the light to stream in. The room is empty, save for a few pillared supports and a bare piece of stone jutting out from the far wall - the altar, Bryn supposes. On the wall above the altar is an intricately carved series of loops within loops. 

"That is the wheel of destiny." The old man points to the carving above the altar. "That's what the golden ring represents. It marks the child as the chosen one." 

"The Balardi monks believe in reincarnation of their leaders," Firouz pipes up suddenly. "But do you really think wearing a gold ring is enough to make Ajeeb the reincarnation of one of them--" 

Bryn stumbles again as images of yellow-wrapped bandits on horseback suddenly fill her vision. Dermott's doing - she wouldn't be able to pick out such details without the aid of Firouz's magniscope. "Sinbad, we're almost out of time. They're coming," she says. 

Sinbad turns to the old man. "We are going to save this child and bring an end to those bandits once and for all. Will you help us?" 

"I believe this child is the one who was foretold," the old man says, his voice trembling with emotion. "And even if he isn't, I will help you anyway, for the sake of all our children I could not save." 

Sinbad grips the old man's shoulder and stares into his eyes. "Will your village help us?" 

"I will ask them." 

"Good enough." Abruptly, Sinbad releases the old man. "Go back to your village. Tell them to come if they can after the bandits have passed by. We'll make our stand here in this inner sanctum. Doubar, Rongar, jam the doors close after our friend here leaves. We'll each take a window. Bryn, stay back with Ajeeb. This time, we'll make them come to us."


End file.
